


(You Drive Me) Crazy

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:09:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: Strictly speaking, Clarke doesn’t really need to be able to drive herself around. But sometimes, she still really wishes she could.Like when her annoying as fuck partner won’t fucking shut up about the fact that she can’t.  Or, the one where something finally makes Clarke decide she needs to learn to drive, or die trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightstargazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY [NAI](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com)!!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> (title literally from the Britney song bc i'm trash but so is Nai so it fits <3)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s really not so much that Clarke _chose_ to not be able to drive.

 

It’s just how things happened to work out for her.

 

Between her parents, her friends, and the driver employed to chauffeur her around up until she’d graduated high school, she’s just never really had much cause to learn.

 

And then she’d left home for college and met Raven, who’d rolled her eyes but proceeded to teach her to navigate bus routes and the metro.

 

And then Uber became a thing. Lyft, too.

 

So, yeah, strictly speaking, she just doesn’t really _need_ to be able to drive herself around.

 

But sometimes, she still really wishes she could.

 

Like when her annoying as fuck partner won’t fucking shut up about the fact that she can’t.

 

“Let’s move, Griffin,” Bellamy calls through the window the second she pushes out of her building. “I’m not doing any more overtime just because someone doesn’t know how to tell time.”

 

She rolls her eyes as she strides over to the car idling by the roadside, yanking the door open and throwing a brown paper bag into his lap.

 

“At least all of my watches actually _work_ ,” she retorts, pushing her sunglasses up to sit on top of her head. “By the way, not sure if anyone told you, but when something stops working, people usually throw it away.”

 

Bellamy shrugs, waiting for the loud click of her seatbelt snapping into place before peeling away from the curb. “I’m getting it fixed next week. What are _you_ doing about, you know, not being able to _drive_?”

 

“I _will_ shoot you in the face,” she grouses, snatching the paper bag back from him to pull a toasted bagel out.

 

He glances sideways. “Crumbs, Griffin.”

 

“I got it, I _got_ it,” she grumbles, producing a paper napkin from her pocket. “See? I _learn_.”

 

Bellamy scoffs through a right turn. “Sure. Everything else but _driving_.”

 

She throws the paper bag back into his lap, the second bagel she’d brought for him jostling about in the bag with a loud rustle. He laughs, taking one hand off the wheel to position it more securely between his legs.

 

Okay, so maybe Bellamy Blake isn’t the worst partner she’s ever had. But he’s definitely the most _annoying_.

 

He always wins their rock-paper-scissors battles to sort who has to cover any extra paperwork. He constantly pesters her into coming with him to the gym, poking fun at her dislike of unnecessary physical exertion. (She’s not _lazy_. She’s in decent enough shape, even for a cop. She works out just as much as she _needs_ to, not one ounce more.) He’s a better shot than her, and he makes sure she knows it too, always insisting on comparing their paper targets after every round of practice.

 

Okay, so maybe he stays behind with her while she’s on overtime, bringing her more coffee, searching up random things on Greek and Roman mythology and ancient history and reading interesting bits out loud, making all those painfully dull forms just a little less painful and dull to work on late into the evening.

 

And maybe he sometimes shows her new exercises to do to improve on her weak spots. He _is_ , after all, pretty much the closest thing she has to a foremost authority on core and upper body strength. She’d be an idiot not to take advantage of his help.

 

And maybe he makes sure to learn as much about her shooting style as he possibly can, positioning himself so he can cover her weaker right side whenever they’re out in the field. She’s always off when it comes to targets on her right side. (She takes a little bit of comfort in the fact that he tends to veer a little downwards when it comes to targets on his left-hand side.)

 

But he’s _mouthy_ , and he’s _sarcastic_ , and he’s _stubborn_ , and he somehow manages to turn _everything_ into a competition, and that pisses her off, and makes her want to punch him in the face, but it also makes her want to laugh sometimes, so she ends up relaxing a little while still taking shit seriously, which usually results in her performing her best more often and more consistently, and yeah, it’s all just really terrible.

 

(And maybe just the tiniest little bit fun.)

 

Whatever the case, she certainly doesn’t deserve his constant ribbing about her not being able to drive. She _definitely_ doesn’t deserve the comment he’d made last week while they were on patrol — the one about how he especially liked being behind the wheel because it was basically the only time she couldn’t tell him what to do.

 

“I’m gonna say this for, like, the ninety-seventh time,” she says around a bite of bagel. “But you know, we _really_ don’t have to carpool all the time.” She swallows, glancing at him with a raised brow. “Especially not if you’re going to be this much of a whiny brat every single morning.”

 

Bellamy snorts. “Yeah, and I’m really gonna spend the first forty minutes of my day twiddling my thumbs while I pretend not to notice Captain Kane glaring at me through the glass because my partner isn’t at her desk to block me from his view.”

 

Clarke groans. “Jesus Christ. That was _one time_. The metro _literally_ broke down!”

 

“One time too many,” Bellamy remarks with a shake of his head.

 

“Are you seriously _still_ blaming me for that?” she demands, waving her half-eaten bagel about. “Am I to be expected to fix all of the city’s metro’s problems by myself?!”

 

“Of course not,” he says, infuriatingly calm. “ _Hence_ , the carpooling.”

 

She rolls her eyes, returning her attention to her food. “Whatever. You just want to keep taking advantage of a free breakfast every morning.”

 

He barks a laugh. “Ah yes, bran muffins and buttered bagels. You spoil me, Griffin.”

 

“Bran is _good_ for you,” she snaps. “And they’re _wholewheat_ bagels, mind. That’s the _healthy_ stuff. And don’t act like you don’t like my cinnamon apple butter, you bought some _just_ to take back to your own apartment.”

 

“Don’t forget that time you got in and threw a power bar at me.”

 

She shrugs. “I didn’t have time to shop that week. Be grateful you got anything at all, Blake.”

 

“I always am,” he says with a snort.

 

And yeah, okay, maybe since that day, she’s made sure to do her Sunday shopping every single week, rain or shine, without fail.

 

What? She needs her partner to be healthy and functioning if he’s going to actually have her back while they’re working. It makes _sense_.

 

But it still doesn’t mean she _appreciates_ him yapping on about her inability to drive all the fucking _time_. _Christ_.

 

She sighs as they step out of the car and start across the station parking lot. “Look, I don’t see why this is such a fucking issue with you. Captain Kane is totally cool with it.” She wrinkles her nose. “Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

 

“I’m just saying,” he says lightly. “You should learn. What if something happens, and I can’t drive? You need to at least be able to get yourself somewhere safe.”

 

He glances up when she suddenly lags behind, turning to frown at her arrested expression. “What? Am I wrong?”

 

“What do you mean, you can’t drive?” she says steadily, trying to ignore the way the tone of her voice sounds peculiar, even to her. “What’s going to happen?”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re on a raid, or a stakeout or something, and we make contact with perps, and I get shot. Or stabbed. Or shivved. Or shanked. Or—”

 

“I _got_ it, thanks,” she snaps, swallowing hard as she feels the blood drain from her face.

 

His brows furrow together, and he turns fully to take a step towards her. “You okay?”

 

She blinks, shaking her head.

 

“Yeah,” she says, starting up again to brush roughly past him. “Yeah, I’m fine, Blake.”

 

She doesn’t turn round to look at him, but she doesn’t need to do that to know that he’s watching her, a frown likely still etched across his features.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She finds him in the break room during lunch.

 

Throwing the thin handbook down onto Bellamy’s table, she feels viciously gratified when he jumps a little.

 

He leans over his chicken sub, squinting at the large letters printed across the book. “Is this some kind of hint, Griffin? Never heard any complaints about my driving skills before.”

 

She rolls her eyes, kicking out the chair opposite him to settle herself into it. “My test is in two weeks. You’re gonna help me ace it.”

 

He gapes at her as she pulls the book towards her and flips it open. “You’re seriously gonna learn?”

 

She looks up from the book to arch a disdainful brow at him. “Like I said, if you’re gonna be such a whiny _brat_ about it.”

 

He stares down at the book. “Where the fuck did you even find the time to pick up the official handbook?!”

 

She shrugs. “You have your street connections, I have mine. Now, shut up and explain this crap to me.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Okay, one more.”

 

Bellamy sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “You’ve already answered all of these — _thrice_. You know you only need to get forty questions right on the actual test, right?”

 

“One more,” she repeats stubbornly, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. She’s a few feet away from their desks, pacing back and forth so her feet can keep her racing mind company.

 

He looks at her for a long moment, expression unreadable — and then exhales, picking up the book.

 

“Unless otherwise posted,” he reads aloud, “the speed limit in a residential area is, option A… ”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her test is on a Saturday.

 

On Friday evening, Bellamy drops her off at home, reminding her to get a good night’s rest.

 

She doesn’t ask for a ride, but he tells her he’ll see her at nine o’clock anyway.

 

The next day, she pushes through the door of her building, looking even paler than usual.

 

Bellamy frowns when she gets into the car, looking over her strangely dishevelled and yet, at the same time, perfectly neat appearance with bewildered concern.

 

“You okay, Griffin?” he asks, picking up one of the coffee cups sitting in the cupholders between their seats and extending it to her.

 

“I’m fine,” she mutters, accepting the cup with jerky movements. “Go already.”

 

To her surprise, he turns the key in the ignition, shutting the chirp of radio off so that they’re abruptly thrust into silence. He twists in his seat to face her, brows furrowed.

 

“You have bags under your eyes,” he says, not unkindly. “Your hair’s in a _ponytail_.”

 

“And what the fuck’s wrong with a ponytail?” she gripes irritatedly, still not meeting his gaze.

 

She feels his eyes level on the side of her face. “You only ever do a ponytail when you’re too nervous or worked up for a braid.”

 

“That’s not true,” she says defiantly. “I like ponytails. They’re easy.”

 

“You hate ponytails,” he informs her flatly. “You think they make you look like a high school cheerleader.”

 

She exhales sharply. “Fine. I’m nervous, okay? Whatever. _Now_ will you go?”

 

He doesn’t move, still angled sideways in his seat so as to face her.

 

“I don’t get it,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “What are you so nervous about? You’ve been drilling this shit into your head every day for the last two weeks. You’ve nailed every single question about twelve times each, _word perfect_. Again, I feel I should remind you that this _is_ a multiple choice test, so that’s really unnecessary.”

 

“Thanks for the reminder,” she grumbles, one hand fidgeting with the plastic lid on her cup. “I’ll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech. Can we go now?”

 

“Not until you answer my question,” he says firmly. “Come on, Griffin. You just went and signed up for that test out of nowhere, and you’ve been like this ever since. What’s up, huh?”

 

She sighs, the bangs framing her face shifting with the expulsion of air. “Nothing.”

 

He snorts. “Yeah, I don’t fucking think so. Spit it out.”

 

She presses her lips together into a thin line, a hurricane of thought whirling through her head.

 

“It’s nothing,” she finally says, with an awkward shrug. “I just… don’t like to lose.”

 

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know,” Bellamy says, head cocking. “Don’t give me that shit. There’s absolutely no way you’re failing that exam today, and you know it. Come on, what’s eating you?”

 

Something inside of her snaps.

 

“You’re _right_ , okay?” she practically shouts. “I’m nervous! I’m nervous as _shit_ because I _need_ to pass this fucking exam, okay? I _need_ to pass it, and I _need_ to get my goddamn _license_ , so you can stop fucking talking about getting shot or stabbed or whatever the fuck else, and you know what? _Fuck_ you, Blake, I’m fucking driving you to whatever goddamn hospital you need to get to, because _I’m not fucking losing you, okay?!_ ” 

 

She sucks in a sharp breath, chest heaving with the effort of delivering her outburst in all of its tempestuous rage. Her ragged breaths are the only sound to be heard within the quiet confines of the car.

 

Bellamy blinks.

 

“You’re learning to drive… because you’re worried I’ll get shot?”

 

She glares at him, completely and absolutely pissed off. “Or _stabbed_. Or whatever stupid fucking _shit_ you said.” She scoffs, tearing her gaze from him to glare out the window instead, arms folded across her chest. “ _Idiot_.”

 

“Griffin.”

 

“ _What_ ,” she bites out, not pulling her glare from the street outside.

 

“ _Clarke_.”

 

She huffs, pulling her arms free so she can turn and glare at him instead. “I said _wha_ —”

 

But her question is answered before it’s even asked with the press of his lips to hers, both his hands curling around her face to angle her towards him properly. Caught off guard, she freezes in place, letting his lips move against hers for a good two or three seconds before suddenly remembering to respond — which she does with a small sigh, pressing back into his space, her fingers fisted into the front of his shirt to keep his lips locked to hers.

 

They’re both breathing heavily by the time they pull apart.

 

Bellamy leans back into his seat, clearing his throat and starting up the car again. “Right. Now we can go.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She aces the exam in fifteen minutes flat.

 

“Full marks,” she announces when she comes out into the lobby, half triumphant and half sheepish.

 

Bellamy insists on taking her out afterwards, so they can celebrate.

 

“And there’s no better way to do that than with pancakes and ice cream,” he says, grinning wide as they walk towards the car hand in hand.

 

She shrugs as they duck into the car, reaching for her seatbelt.

 

“I don’t know,” she says nonchalantly, clicking it into place. “I was thinking maybe lots of making out would do the trick. Followed by lots of sex, of course.”

 

He makes a slight strangled noise, aiming for the the ignition and completely missing, the key in his hand bouncing off of the side.

 

She smiles innocuously. “But sure, pancakes and ice cream sounds good too.”

 

“Fuck that,” he says instantly, starting up the car and peeling out of the parking lot, her laugh tinkling over the purr of the engine.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~~and then Nai writes the amazing smut that's to follow lmao~~
> 
>  
> 
> let's have pancakes and ice cream [on tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com) =D


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